


A Tale of Courtship

by Sugarchev, verbaeghe



Series: Be a Fairy Tale [2]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M, Tampa Bay Lightning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-11 18:23:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19545814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sugarchev/pseuds/Sugarchev, https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbaeghe/pseuds/verbaeghe
Summary: “Marriage,” King Anton repeats to a slack-jawed Tony. “The council agrees, it’s time we secure our alliances.”The King’s cabinet falls silent. Stamkos purses his lips, while Victor pretends to notice something out the window. Callahan and McDonagh glue their eyes to the tactical map sprawled across the table and Misha…he should sit down before his legs give out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [verbaeghe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbaeghe/pseuds/verbaeghe) in the [PuckingRare2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/PuckingRare2019) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Prince Anthony gifted a personal servant when he 'comes of age'. Misha is soft and kind and they fall in love.
> 
> But then there's turmoil and Tony is faced with the prospect of picking from a number of suitors to marry to strengthen his and another kingdom. He doesn't really like any of them and he doesn't know how he's going to choose...and what about his and Misha's feelings for one another?
> 
> Happy endings only, please!

“Marriage,” King Anton repeats to a slack-jawed Tony. “The council agrees, it’s time we secure our alliances.”

The King’s cabinet falls silent. Stamkos purses his lips, while Victor pretends to notice something out the window. Callahan and McDonagh glue their eyes to the tactical map sprawled across the table and Misha…he should sit down before his legs give out.

“Alliances?” Tony repeats. His voice is eerily composed and Misha (well, everyone) knows it’s the calm before the storm.

“The Bruitals’ numbers strengthen by the minute,” Anton proceeds. “And our ranks simply fail to cast a shadow. Now, we have the resources, but-“

“Father, if I may,” Tony’s lip twitches. “What was the point of shipping our dear Brayden off to the desert if Killorn’s warriors fail to deliver? And just how, pray tell, is your capital going to defend itself with an empty throne once you do the same with me?”

“Oh, Tony,” Anton sighs, “Is that what this is about? You’re not to leave your home, my boy. Each of your potential suitors have already agreed to our terms. They’ll stay right here in the palace, with you.”

Misha clenches his jaw, and somewhere between Anton’s patronizing tone and THAT little revelation, the fire ignites.

“It’s about you making these decisions without ever once consulting me,” Tony spits. “Ruling the entire Six-damned kingdom isn’t enough for you? You’ve got to control my life, too?”

“A King’s life is never his own,” Anton says. “You’d do well to remember that because once you’re married, there will be no time for these little tirades. You will lead the kingdom, and put the welfare of your subjects and their home before yourself.”

And there it is. The indelible truth that Tony is not his, and never will be.

Misha curls his fingers around the seat of his chair, digs his nails into the wood. It’s as if he’s being held underwater, chest burning as Tony and Anton’s quarrel grows more distant from his ears.

Every shared breath, every laugh, every single “I love you” and promise bubble around him and flee to the surface.

Tony is slipping from his arms, and he’s sinking.

“Enough,” Anton roars so fiercely, even Victor jumps. “You’ve spent the past three years training for the throne-- and a lifetime as my son-- yet the way you behave now reflects none of this. It is an insult to all in this room, and all you have sworn to defend outside these walls. You would refuse to strengthen our family only to watch theirs be slaughtered, ripped apart by the Bruitals. For what, Tony?”

“You don’t…you don’t understand,” Tony objects, though it looks as if his back is decidedly against the wall.

“But I do,” Anton softens. “All too well. This is just one of many sacrifices you will endure during your reign. If you want it to last, you will accept this now.”

Tony doesn’t say it, but Misha knows. He didn’t ask for any of this. Brayden was supposed to be here, but he got lucky.

And they did not.

Tony’s cheeks are aflame, and Misha can’t help but notice how small he looks before his father. He follows Tony’s eyes to the tactical map, where innumerable enemy flags claim the outlands and he knows.

Tony knows, too, but he tries again. “There has to be another way.”

“Anthony,” Anton sighs.

“You said it yourself, we have the resources. We could promise land. Ships! Or—“

“Arrangements have already been made. The council and I have carefully vetted and secured suitors from four of the most powerful regions in the land, with the first arriving next week. You still have a choice.”

Misha’s not prepared for the way Tony looks back at him. The anguish, desperation and hopelessness that mirrors his own.

He has to be strong. For Tony.

“This isn’t a choice,” Tony grumbles back at his father. “I’ve never had one.”

Tony turns on his heel, mutters Misha’s name, prompting him to follow. Misha tries to hold himself tall as he trails behind, offers the men a tiny nod on his way out. He can do this.

For Tony.

//

“This isn’t going to happen,” Tony says, setting a mad pace about his quarters. “I made you a promise, Misha. This isn’t happening.”

How many times had he sworn to Misha that things would be different once he took the throne? Stolen kisses from Misha in passing before looking into his beautiful, amber eyes and swear to him one day, they’d kiss on the balcony for the entire kingdom to see?

“It must,” Misha says meekly. “Your father is right.”

“I’m not losing you. No forced marriage, bloodthirsty conquest or divine force is powerful enough to take you away from me.”

“Tony…”

“Tell me I’m being selfish.” Tony takes a few steps toward him. “Tell me I’m a disgrace to the entire kingdom, like my father did. I don’t care. This life is nothing without you.”

Misha drops his eyes, takes a steadying breath. When he looks back up, Tony can see his resolve.

“Do you remember when you first got me?” Misha asks, taking his hands, squeezing. “What I was sworn to do?”

“To never leave my side,” Tony recites, gently returning Misha’s action.

“Which I won’t,” his voice wavers. “I’m still going to be here, even if it’s not the way we’d imagined. And, you know…I want you to be happy.”

“Misha.” Tony cups his jaw. “You need to stop what you’re saying right now, because I can’t hear it. I won’t. Happy is only with you, and nothing is changing that.”

Misha bites his lip. “The threat isn’t going anywhere either. You can fight it all you want, but you know what you must do. I can’t stand in the way.”

“We’ll do what needs to be done.” Tony pulls him close, finds comfort in his familiar weight. “You’ve made up your mind, right? You’re going to stay by my side?”

“Always.”

“Then I’ve made up mine as well.” Tony pulls back, catches his eyes, holds them. “I’m not going to leave you alone. I’m not going to let another person come between us, and I’m never going to stop loving you. We’re going to make this work, okay?”

Misha sniffs, nods fervently into their kiss.

And when Tony begins to undress him, feels the way that Misha melts against his body, shudder and sigh, he knows they will.


	2. Chapter 2

Tony’s head is shoved beneath his pillow when his chamber doors creak open.

The drums started at the crack of dawn. A whole damned parade is ongoing for the arrival of his first suitor, and for the last couple of hours, Tony’s tried his hardest to not hear any of it.

He doesn’t so much mind the familiar, soft stride of Misha’s footsteps that...should be making their way to his bed right now, but they don’t. Instead, they veer off course and come to a halt across the room.

Tony groans when he hears the drapes sling open, shuts his eyes tighter.

“None of that,” Misha says, having none of his petulance. He feels the bed dip with Misha’s weight and blindly sticks a hand out from his fortress of bedding.

Slender fingers thread through his and squeeze. More in apology than love, Tony realizes, as Misha yanks the comforter off him.

Cool air hits his naked skin, turns it to gooseflesh as he lets out a muffled cry of, “Mi-shaaaa!”

“You’ve laid in bed for as long as you can,” Misha says, grasping his pillow. Tony stubbornly holds tighter.

“No I haven’t,” Tony protests. “I can lay here a lot longer, and you’re more than welcome to join and see.”

“You’d really want us to just lie there?” Misha asks. Tony sighs at the warmth of his hand as it makes its way down the small of his back, over the slope of his ass.

At that, he pokes his head out, squinting to make out Misha’s face in the flood of light.

He barely has time to register a traitorous grin as the pillow is snagged and tossed out of reach. The bastard.

“Up. Now.” Misha punctuates with a playful slap. “We’re running late enough as it is.”

“You seem awfully eager to get me prettied up for some other person, you know.”

Misha’s face falls a bit, and Tony feels a spike of guilt.

“You know it’s not like that,” Misha says quietly.

“I know,” Tony says, wishing it was just another morning with Misha. He’d convince him to skip breakfast- have each other instead- and hold him close as they speak of everything from theories of life to what flavor sherbet they’d like after their afternoon walk.

How he’d taken those days for granted.

“You could dress me in something horrid,” Tony tries lightening the mood, extending his arms as Misha slides on his undershirt. “Frump up my hair. Make me unappealing.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Misha says, helping him into a silver vest. “And I won’t have my Prince’s reputation sullied…or I’ll be without a job. And a head.”

“Yeah, because we’re just lousy with beheadings around here, sweet Nordling,” Tony rolls his eyes. “Though, now that you mention it, one certainly sounds more appealing than an audience with the Prince of the Mountains.”

“Do you know of him?”

“No, and I don’t need to. I know all about the men of the Reach. It’s as if the length of your beard is some sort of status symbol. They sleep on beds made of stone and eat their own young if they prove too weak.”

“Tony, you’re reciting the legend of the Rock Giants,” Misha frowns.

“Maybe so, but he’s got the same name as my brother and that’s weird.”

//

Tony is, in fact, met with a giant.

Even from his perch on the throne, he can tell his suitor is somewhere around Victor’s size.

But his smooth jaw, brilliant blue eyes and soft, auburn curls might be suggesting that he doesn’t breathe fire, or devour villages.

He’s not Tony’s speed, granted, but he is handsome.

“My Prince, allow me to introduce Prince Braydon Coburn of the Eastern Reach,” Stamkos announces.

“An absolute honor, Your Highness,” Braydon bows. “Tell of the Capital Prince’s grace and compassion has long echoed through the Reach.”

Tony wants to laugh. He’s seen enough of the royal court to know what ass-kissing looks like.

“A pleasure, Your Highness,” Tony plays along through a tight-lipped smile. “The South welcomes you.”

Braydon motions and two of his men come forward, presenting Tony with iron boxes. Really, the gift presentations are so antiquated. 

It’s embarrassing.

“Some of the finest crystals from our mineral caverns,” Braydon explains as the boxes open one by one. “A peak-forged, malachite dagger and, well….”

Oh. Tony tips his head at the fine leather, sapphire laden bridle.

“Heard you were something of a rider,” Braydon finishes.

Tony glances sideways, seeks Misha’s eyes. He’s standing dutifully aside, staring at his feet.

“Your generosity and kindness are vastly appreciated,” Tony recites, forcing himself forward. “If there is anything you require during your stay, please, do not hesitate to let it be known, and we will honor your request.”

Stamkos looks like he could die happy when Tony manages to pull that off without snark. Evidence his lessons have succeeded.

“Well, actually,” Braydon folds his arms across his royal breastplate. “How about we start by testing the hold of that bridle, hm?”

//

Braydon insists they go alone, after lunch.

Meaning, Tony has to watch Misha saddle up Erie and another mare for Braydon, and send them on their merry way. 

Left behind alone, the opposite of what Tony promised.

He’s in a foul mood. If Misha were here, he could at least serve as some sort of buffer.

Tony hasn’t said a word, just listening as Braydon prattles on about the ship ride over and the weather and the “interesting, fanned trees” that grow here, like a child who’s just seen the ocean for the first time.

“Aren’t you a bit old for a prince?” Tony asks abruptly. He’s got to have about fifteen years on him, maybe a couple less.

“Aren’t you a bit broody for a boy from the land of eternal sunshine?” Braydon asks, smiling good-naturedly. “I am, yes, but things work differently in the East. My father won’t pass along the throne until he sees I’ve found someone with whom I can share it.”

“And you haven’t.”

“You know, that’s quite the bond you two share,” Braydon says instead of answering, nods to Erie. “How long have you had her?”

“Half my life, really,” Tony says, combing his fingers through her mane. “She’s been good to me.”

“And you, her. Could tell by the way her eyes lit up just as soon as she saw you. I’ve just acquired a new steed myself, and you wouldn’t believe how stubborn. A mule in disguise, I’d say.”

Braydon laughs in a way that crinkles the corners of his eyes, and he’s getting tougher to hate by the minute.

In fact, he’s pleasant. And Tony’s being an ass.

“What’s his name?” Tony asks, deciding it’s time he plays along.

“Skoeks.” Braydon smiles fondly. “Good ol’ Skoeks. Don’t know what he’d make of all this sand.”

“Well, if Erie’s anything like me, she won’t be particularly smittened with your mountains.”Tony stops short when he realizes what he’s said.

“I mean...I have a thing about heights,” he amends, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not that your home isn’t beautiful. Just...”

“Relax,” Braydon smooths, directing his horse closer to shore. “It’s not for everyone. The terrain is steep and the winters are harsh. But our people are proud, and persevere.”

“And what would they think of their Prince trading that for the, uh, land of eternal sunshine?” Tony swallows. Might as well stop dancing around it, he thinks, joining Braydon at the water’s edge.

“They’re thrilled by the prospect,” Braydon says, lifting his feet as a particularly tall wave washes beneath them. “

“And are you?” Tony asks. “Thrilled by the prospect.”

“Well, this heat would take some getting used to.” Braydon grins, and he isn’t answering again.

“Ah, true. It’s not for everyone,” Tony says.

And neither is he.

//

For six days, the Prince of the Mountains has been courting Tony.

Well, courting’s a funny word, because Tony has assured Misha, “Oh love, he’s not even my type.”

And if you look closely—and Misha always is-- you’d notice the feeling was mutual.

Despite the excited chatter spreading through the palace regarding Braydon and Tony’s obvious chemistry, Braydon is never...he’s not. .

Misha huffed, annoyed, because there are no longing glances from the guy, no leaning into Tony’s space with a flirtatious grin. Nothing at all! 

Even now, he’s watching them finishing up a sunset picnic, Braydon is more enamored with his lemon cake than Tony.

Misha watches Tony laugh and when he throws his head back, tips his smile to the sky, he’s almost offended that someone on the Six’s green earth wouldn’t want his Prince.

Almost, because when he brings the pair a pitcher of cider and Tony’s eyes sparkle up at him, Misha wants to keep all that sunshine to himself.

“Thanks, Misha,” Tony beams, letting their fingers brush as Misha hands over his glass. It’s already sweating with the balmy, summer heat, and so is Tony. Misha forgets himself as he takes in the rosy flush of Tony’s cheeks, the little beads of sweat dotting his brow.

It’s also been six days since he’s got to well, properly take his time with Tony, and with Braydon sharing an adjacent room, they could forget spending extra time together at night.

“Of course, Your Highness,” Misha says easily, passing a glass to Braydon.

“Why don’t you join us?” Braydon asks, friendly enough.

“Oh, no, Your Highness, I—“

“Yes, why don’t you?” Tony asks.

Misha does as he’s told, sitting on the edge of the blanket as naturally as he can in such regal company.

“Misha,” Braydon says. “Where’s that from?”

“His name is Mikhail,” Tony is quick to correct. “And he’s from the Northern realms.”

Braydon glances between them. “Mikhail, then. What brought you to the Capital?”

“It’s a long story,” Tony says, and Misha knows Tony’s being kind, speaking for him because he doesn’t like to talk about his past. How little he recalls before that fated day on the streets, when Tony gave him bread.

It’s sort of funny, Misha muses, that he and Tony had been so angry about the short time that Anton was giving Tony to get to know each suitor, as if Tony is supposed to know who he can put up with enough to spend the rest of his life in a mere seven days.

As if , it hadn’t taken Misha all of thirty seconds to know he wanted to remain in the Prince’s orbit forever.

“And is he allowed to say so himself?” Braydon teases.

Misha chimes in before Tony can take offense. “His Highness simply doesn’t wish to cast a cloud over such a clear evening,” Misha smiles. “I worked my way from the streets into Amalie Palace, and I’m very happy here.”

Tony looks at Misha sideways, and there’s a glint of possessiveness in them that may or may not send a thrill of heat through him.

“Well, I think Tony’s lucky to have such an attentive companion,” Braydon says. “Now, tell me, did you make this cake yourself? It’s delightful!”

//

Misha can’t stop thinking about what Braydon said.

After an evening spent swapping tales of the North, East and South, he gets why the prince has enchanted the entire Court.. Braydon is genuine, intelligent, and all-around pleasant company. 

But he was wrong about one thing.

Maybe he wants to be Tony’s companion, but he’s just a servant.

A servant who can’t gift Tony precious gems, a dagger forged by the Six. Not even so much as a shiny new apple for Erie.

A servant who, despite Tony’s promise of making it work, must resign himself to losing him.

But right now, he’s been summoned to the Prince’s room. And right now, said Prince is on his knees for him, erasing all thoughts from his head with his sinfully sweet mouth.

He sighs, threading his fingers through Tony’s curls as they eagerly bob between his legs. Tony had been on him as soon as he’d opened the door, said he had to have him and wouldn’t wait a moment longer.

Any protest had died on his tongue as soon as Tony’s touched him.

They’ve done this, of course, countless times, but Misha still can’t catch his breath when he sees that enraptured, reverent look on Tony’s face when he’s doing this. The sharp little breaths through his nose, the deft swipes of his tongue and the blur of his hand as he works himself in tandem.

“Tony,” Misha warns. But Tony just digs his fingers into his thighs, takes him deeper until Misha can’t hold on any longer.

He looks up with swollen lips, wet eyes and Misha wants to ruin him.

“Come here,” Misha pants, tugging his Prince up to join him on the bed. Misha shoves him back, takes over, and it’s not long before he’s clamoring for Misha’s lips to stifle his cry.

“Gods,” Tony exhales shakily. “I’ve missed you.”

Misha wraps him up, holds him snug. He can’t stay, he knows, but…just for a little while.

“It’s been quite the week,” he says against Tony’s curls.

“We could leave now, you know.” Tony looks up. “Before dawn. We could go to the docks, sneak aboard a ship. Stowaway…”

“Stowaway?” Misha asks. “Where to?”

“Anywhere you want. The wastelands, for all I care.”

“And what would your mountain Prince think of that?” It comes out a bit more resentful than Misha intends. He’s not jealous, not really, but he misses Tony, too.

“Please,” Tony rolls over to face him in full. “He doesn’t even like me, not like that. And he’s content to talk about horses and battleaxes all day. Just trying to please his father, from what I’ve gathered.”

“So…if you’re both trying to please your fathers--”

Misha doesn’t get to finish his thought before there’s a rap at the chamber door. They spring into action, Misha scrambling back to decency as Tony makes the bed look as if it hadn’t been privy to anything salacious.

Misha checks over his shoulder before he straightens up and answers. Speak of the devil, and he doesn’t look at all surprised when it’s Tony’s companion who opens the door.

“Excuse me, your Highness.” Misha bows. “His Highness had just requested a change in linens. I’ll be on my way.”

“No, uh, Mikhail,” Braydon says. “I’d like a word. And you should probably be here, too.”

Misha gives a slight scowl of confusion, but steps aside to let him in.

“Braydon,” Tony greets, thankfully back in his nightclothes. “Is something the matter? It’s— “

“An ungodsly hour, I know,” Braydon acquiesces. “But I need a word.”

Tony motions him to the table, and Misha follows suit, taking a seat beside Tony.

For the first time all week, Braydon looks a fright, those ever-smiling eyes now a solemn grey. Misha offers him a drink, to which he declines.

“I don’t know how else to say this.” Braydon clears his throat, “so I’m just going to say it: I’m not marrying you.”

The silence is thick for several, heady seconds. Misha glances between them, and he doesn’t know whether to be thrilled or insulted.

“Well, that doesn’t really surprise me,” Tony says calmly.

“You’re lovely, you really are,” Braydon placates. “It’s just that I can’t. I’m…wed to another.”

“You…what?” Tony asks, agape.

“You deserve the truth before the closing ceremony tomorrow. I know I haven’t been particularly charming. I thought I could do it, but I can’t. Especially not now.”

“Hold on.” Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re married. Impossible. You wouldn’t, couldn’t, be here if you were.”

“On second thought, Mikhail,” Braydon sighs. “I think I will take that drink.”

Misha pours snifters of brandy for the three of them and settles down for Braydon’s tale of love.

Once upon a time, a restless young prince was wandering the walls of his mountain-carved castle when, below, he spotted a most peculiar sight in the combat list. Under the moonlight, a lone boy- who he knew to be the royal armorer’s son- was striking down (straw) soldier after soldier. Braydon must have watched for ages before the young warrior was content enough to have mercy and hang up his shortsword.

Sure enough, the prince had found him there the next evening, and the evening after that. Weeks passed before he finally worked up the nerve to make himself known. But once he had, the pair became fast friends. And, as they grew older, that companionship had blossomed into something deeper, and not entirely unforeseen.

Against his father’s wishes, the young prince’s paramour had rejected the family business in favor of achieving knighthood. The king-to-be proudly declared his undying love for not royalty, but one of the mountain’s fiercest soldiers.

The King had instantly forbidden it. This warrior was a liability, and had not a drop of royal blood. Enraged, he instantly set upon a quest of uniting his heir with someone of equal merit.

“So, we eloped in secret,” Braydon says, polishing off his glass. “A promise that no matter how many people my father tries to force between us, nothing will destroy our love.”

“So, you just maintain this charade of being a suitor?” Tony asks softly. “What if one of the princes go to your father with this information?”

Braydon smiles. “Turns out no prince actually wants to be forced to marry outside of love.” He indicates to Misha with his head. “I know you don’t either.”

“What gave it away?” Tony asks, placing his hand over Misha’s.

“The look you give him,” Braydon sighs. “It’s the same one my husband gives me. If you’ve seen it once, you can spot it anywhere.”

Misha’s heart swells when he feels Tony’s fingers squeeze his ever so gently. Braydon’s story had near moved him to tears and now he feels so, so full.

“Hold on to one another.” Braydon nods. “It’s all we can do.”

Misha opens his palm, entwines their fingers and prays Tony never lets go.

Prays for Braydon to get his happily ever after, and that there’s room for theirs, too.


	3. Chapter 3

Tony’s never been to the fabled Hyacinth Gardens, but oh, he’s heard tell of endless lavender fields and water lilies, barefoot maidens and living poetry.

A land of bleeding hearts and wine, his father had always said with some distaste, but Tony had always thought it rather idyllic.

“Really, expecting us to stand out here in the sun,” King Anton complains as they watch the grand procession of ships sail into the docks. “Garden tradition, my-“

“Father,” Tony scowls. “If you hate the Gardens so much, remind me again why you insisted upon hosting them? It’s not as if they even have a military.”

“They have mercenaries,” King Anton says, putting on his plastic, benevolent King Smile as he waves to the crowd. “And damn near anything they could want with those riches of theirs.”

“But we’re the capital,” Tony murmurs, parroting his father’s motions. “We’ve got money, and loyalty among the ranks. You’re really going to trust some swords for hire?”

“You underestimate the weight of gold, my boy,” King Anton says. “And, not to mention the farmlands. Securing food will be an utmost priority if war is to ravage the lands. So, do try your best to keep an open mind this time.”

Tony rolls his eyes. His father had been flummoxed by Braydon’s speedy retreat after all appeared to be going swimmingly. Tony had, of course, placed the blame on himself so adverse word wouldn’t reach Braydon’s father, but Anton had implored him to reconsider.

Tony had reached the end of his rope, finally snapping, “Won’t you at least let me see the others before I make such a life-altering decision, Father?”

The King couldn’t argue with that.

“Oh, great Gods,” Anton groans as a four-manned litter ascends the steps. “His Highness’ royal feet dare not touch the begrimed shipyard?”

Tony laughs under his breath. It’s all a little ridiculous, the parade of pastel-gowned foreigners, tossing rose petals in the box’s wake, and the ethereal harmonies streaming from the marching minstrels.

The door swings open, and out pops a, well, rather shorter prince than Tony had expected. His tanned skin glows against his affable, all-white dressing, but beneath strands of loose, dark hair are darker eyes that seem to glower at Tony.

“We welcome you, Prince Louis,” Anton greets carefully, seemingly as taken aback by the man’s countenance as Tony. “We prayed to the Six for your safe and expedient arrival.”

But another, larger hand emerges from the litter and takes the other.

“The blessing seems to have been received,” comes a delicately accented voice. It’s thicker, more nasally and floral than Misha’s, but nice in its own way. “I thank you, my King.”

Tony stares at the figure that hops to the ground and regally struts his way toward him. He has a few inches and years on Tony, onyx-black tresses and eyes as green as the palms he rode by on the way from the dock.

Greener, even, Tony realizes when he comes to a stop before him.

“My prince,” he kneels to kiss Tony’s hand, and Tony frowns at the sheer absurdity of it. “You are far lovelier than your portraits convey.”

“Um,” Tony gingerly takes back his hand, tucking it into his tailcoat. “Portraits?”

“But of course. We in the gardens have a long, rich association with the Southern Kingdom, and would be remiss not to keep up with current affairs. I have long waited to meet you.”

“Erm,” is all Tony manages. Gods, he sounds stupid.

Louis just smiles as he rises to his feet. “Forgive me, it has been a long voyage and I look a mess.”

Tony wants to laugh. The man is going for Prince Charming incarnate, not a single hair out of place, all decked out in pale green, satin robes and ornate, golden jewels.

“Shall we head in and freshen up?” He asks. “Poor prince, you must be baking in this heat. I told them not to carry on with this ridiculously antiquated arrival tradition, but my father wouldn’t hear of anything else.”

“Yeah,” Tony slides his eyes over to his father. “I know all about persistent Kings.”

//

The giving of gifts had gone over much like the last, a grandiose presentation of exotic spices, fine wines and fabrics woven into, well, rather ridiculous outfits, if Misha was being honest.

Misha helps Tony into the final piece of one of the ensembles, a quilted, white satin tunic that hangs above his knees.

“Don’t forget the pin,” Tony says, and oh, he’s in high spirits. Has been since after dinner last night, when Prince Louis had suggested sweet wine and dessert crepes for, “Just you and me, mon cheri.”

Misha had shared a bottle of what was left over from dinner with Louis’ valet, Danick, but neither of them said , opting to sip and seethe together. Misha can’t blame him, it had been a grueling trip over, and all the pageantry is exhausting.

Tony had gotten just a touch tipsy, the kind that flushes his cheeks and the tip of his nose and plasters on that stupidly perfect, lop-sided grin. And Louis- with the perfect hair and the dreamy smile and eyes- is a lot more hands-on than Braydon.

He’d jumped up when Tony said he’s ready to retire, started to place a hand on the small of his back, but Misha jumped to nip that in the bud, muttering apologies and insistence that it was his job to see the prince to bed. Prince Louis’ face broke into that smile before he pressed a little kiss on Tony’s hand and bid him bonne nuite.

The only thing that helped Misha’s anger was the way that Tony curled into him and drifted to sleep.

“The pin, really?” Misha asks flatly.

“Yes, the pin. Prince Louis had it custom-made, didn’t you hear? It’d be rude not to-“

“Oh course,” Misha picks up the golden, bolt-shaped pin and fastens it to Tony’s collar. “There, now his Highness is all ready for his rendezvous in the garden.” He impersonates his best Garden accent.

“You know I’m just going through the motions,” Tony sighs, squeezes Misha’s hand.

“I’m just, it's so much to keep watching happen.” Misha sighs.

“I know.” Tony presses a little kiss to the corner of his mouth. “We’ll get through it together, okay?”

“Okay.”

//

Misha swipes yet another streak of sweat from his face, and considers how it’d feel to just dump the ice water over his head.

Tony seems to be having fun, all smiles as Louis teaches him some sort of Garden sport involving elongated sticks, a small, solid sphere and two makeshift fishnet goals at opposite ends of the courtyard.

Tony’s competitive. Misha knows this from all their games of chess, the drinking games he has with Tyler and Ondrej. He’s got that same glint in his eye, the one where, even if he doesn’t know what he’s doing yet, he’ll find a way to win.

The other prince, in equally outlandish white robes, seems to be having the time of his life just showing Tony the way the game works.

So, normally, it’s three players per side on the field at all times, and one guardian per net.”

“What does the guardian do?” Tony asks, and beside Misha, Danick sighs.

“Here we go,” Danick mutters just loud enough for Misha to hear.

“What?” Misha asks.

“Louis is the best guardian in all of the Garden. No doubt, he’s about to show off.”

Misha looks at him sideways. Perhaps the voyage hadn’t dampened Danick’s spirits at all, and he truly detests his master. Misha glances back over at the pair, unable to fathom what that must be like. There isn’t a moment with Tony that he doesn't consider a gift.

Well. Maybe this one, because Louis’ lining himself up behind Tony, placing his hands on his shoulder to position him to shoot, and Tony is letting him. Grinning, even. Misha knows it doesn't mean anything, Gods, he knows, but he doesn't like Louis' hands all over him like this.

Louis takes his place in front of the net, pulls something over his face that’s not unlike a fencing mask. Really, is that necessary?

“All right, your best shot, Prince!” Louis crouches.

“Won’t I hurt you?” Tony asks. “This ball is pretty heavy.”

“Heh, you’re looking at Hyacinth Garden’s most elite guardian, there’s no way-“

Birds spread their wings and flee as a resounding crack echoes through the yard, and Misha realizes Tony’s smashed the shit out the ball.

Louis just barely stops it with a padded hand before lifting his mask in awe.

“Uh, did I do it wrong?” Tony asks, scratching his head.

“You’ve got to have done this before!” Louis accuses. Tony shakes his head. “You’re a natural! Magnifique!”

“Tch,” Danick sneers. “I’ve seen better.”

Misha peacocks up a bit at that. “Really?” he asks. “For someone who’s never played before, I’d say it was pretty damn good.”

Danick turns with a scowl, Misha’s about to throw it back until both of their heads turn at the sudden burst of laughter coming from the field.

“I swear, I haven’t done this before!” Tony beams, and it appears as if he’s gotten one past Louis. “Maybe You just aren’t quite as elite as you claim to be.”

“Say that in one of our arenas and the public would have you drawn and quartered!” Louis laughs.

“Guess it’s a good thing you’re in my arena, then,” Tony says, stretching his stick across his shoulders.

If Misha didn’t know better, he’d think that Tony was flirting.

“Danick!” Louis waves. “And you, Mikhail, come join us! Help me teach this boy a lesson!”

“I’m going for a walk,” Danick announces, turning on his heel.

“What’s with him?” Tony asks.

Misha watches Louis’ eyes falter for just a moment before he smiles, turning back to Tony. “Don’t worry about him,” he dismisses. “Always been a cranky one. Servants, you know?”

“I’ll go after him. I’ll be back, Your Highnesses” Misha says before he turns and hurries off after Danick.

It’s easy to catch up to Danick, he didn’t go far, just out of the courtyard. He’s standing there glaring at a flowering bush as if it personally insulted his mother and prince in one breath.

“Danick?” Misha starts to reach for him, but hesitates. He doesn’t actually know this guy.

He spins towards Misha, frowns. “What? Am I already needed? Must I return and watch my...my prince sweep yours off his feet?”

“Holy shit, you love him,” Misha breathes. He wonders if Louis feels the same way.

“Well, spotted, Nordling,” Danick snaps.

“Does he not love you back? Is that why you’ve been so angry this whole time? Oh, Gods, I--”

“It won’t do you any good to rat me out. He knows and he _does_ love me back. Your asshole of a prince can not have him.”

“Don’t talk about Tony like that!” Misha blurts without thinking before he claps his hands of his mouth. Damn the six, his mouth is going to get him in trouble one day.

“Oh, you love yours too.” Danick grins. It’s sort of intimidating. “And you speak of hims so familiarly that he must love you as well. Maybe we aren’t all so screwed after all.”

“No, maybe we are not,” Misha agrees.

// 

“Tonight we’re to have veal scallops,” Tony’s saying while Misha dresses him for dinner. “They look like scallops, but they’re actually veal.” A small snort escapes Misha. “What?”

“Nothing, my Prince,” Misha answers. “Turn around and let me affix your pin.”

“Seriously, what’s up with you?” Tony asks.

Misha bites at his bottom lip. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“You can tell me anything,” Tony says. He takes Misha by the hand and leads him over to the bed. “Come, sit. Unburden yourself.”

“It’s about Prince Louis,” he starts. He tells Tony about how he and Danick are in love, how Louis puts on a beautiful show but every night he falls asleep in Danick’s arms, muttering about how he hopes that Tony won’t choose him, because he can’t leave Danick.

“So, they’re like us?” Tony cocks his head, pulls his mouth to the side. He lights up after a second. “This can actually work to our advantage!”

“How so?” Misha asks.

Tony presses a hard kiss to Misha’s lips. “Just listen when I talk to him at dinner tonight.”

“Alright,” Misha says, pulling Tony in for another kiss.

//

The dinner is small, intimate. It’s only Tony and Louis at the table, Misha and Danick serving them. Louis’ chefs had the veal scallops made up and they are just as amazing as promised, but Tony can’t stop thinking about the real thing they should be talking about.

“Misha, can you close the doors?” he asks after dessert is served. “I wish to have a private word with Louis.” Danick starts for the doors. “No, please. Both of you stay.” Danick looks confused, but retreats back to Louis’ side.

Misha falls in next to him. He smiles up at him before turning back to Louis. “You have been a charming guest, Prince, but I know your heart isn’t in this.

“What do you mean, how did you?” He looks over at Danick. “Did you tell them?”

“He did not, Prince,” Misha jumps to say. “I figured it out.”

“Prince Tony, I assure you that I can…” Louis trails off, frowns. “No, I can’t.”

“I know,” Tony says gently. “I can’t either, but maybe we can come to an agreement?”

“An agreement?” Louis echoes, sounding intrigued.

“We could form a union, as our fathers wish, but it would be on parchment only. We could have adjoining rooms.”

“Me with Danick and you with…” Louis clenches his jaw for a second. “With Mikhail?” Tony bows his head in acknowledgement. “I can’t believe how similar our situations are.”

Tony smirks, thinks about Braydon and his knight. “It happens more often than one would think. Princes are not immune to falling in love.” He takes a sip of his wine. “So, what do you say?”

“Your offer is very intriguing, and one I will think over thoroughly, but.” Louis frowns. “I want to find a way to be with Danick for the world to see, if I can.”

“I understand, believe me, I do.” Tony reaches for Misha’s hand below the table line. “There’s no rush, I have another suitor to visit with, so you have time to decide.”

“You are kind to offer this, Prince,” Danick says softly.

“Danick is correct, your kindness will not go unnoticed, no matter the outcome of your, uh, arrangement. You will have an ally in our kingdom for life.”

“Let’s drink to it,” Tony says, raising his glass. Louis does the same.

The four of them smile, the princes into their goblets.

//

“Do you think Louis will agree to you offer?” Misha asks quietly as he gets Tony ready for bed.

“Maybe? I don’t know.” Tony turns to him, interrupting his button fastening. He cups Misha’s cheek. “It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t, because we’ll find a way for us to work out, okay? My promise remains.”

Misha’s lips part in the smallest smile. “I know, Your Highness.”

“You say that like you want to undress me again,” Tony purrs, leaning in and pressing a kiss to Misha’s jaw.

“Well, if you insist, Your Highness,” Misha repeats, pushing Tony’s robes off over his shoulders.

Misha wallows a bit in the sounds that Tony makes as they kiss, gets lost in it.

They can worry about everything else tomorrow.

//

“Delayed a month?” Tony yells.

“Travel is hard out of the North, your suitor will be here as soon as he can.” King Anton’s face is stony when he continues, “I thought you would be glad to put this off.”

“I just want it all over, is that too much to ask?”

“And it will be over in a month. You can dally about until then.” King Anton smiles, it isn’t kind or benevolent. “Off you go, son.”

Tony stomps off, Misha following him.

He can’t believe he has to wait a month to finish all of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A whole month, huh? 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and patiently waiting for this next installment!
> 
> And, a thousand thank-yous to my lovely beta, @verbaeghe, for literally saving Part II after I broke my wrist and all of this fell by the wayside. I love you dearly <3


End file.
